The Lost Trove
by TELINK
Summary: Revenge and shit


**Chapter 1**

The softly rocking motion of the ship was slow and measured like a metronome, producing quiet slap from the waves against the hull. A heavy and thick fog descended over the area, almost otherworldly in how it restricted view of things even right in front of you. The light from the full moon was barely able to cut through the haze in spots, producing rays of eerie glow. Most of the crew was below deck, sleeping soundly, though a few stood above huddled in a group. They were crowded in a small circle of light put off by a single oil lantern. The topic of conversation at hand was the unnatural weather that they were experiencing. One of them, a haggard old man who looked like he hadn't lived a single day that wasn't rough, shivered as he glanced around, "Bad luck, fog like this. Mark me, I've been on a ship all of m'life. Naught good ever comes of it."

The rest of them nod in agreeance, and then one among them scowls, "Course, it do not help none that this cap'n has elected to bring a woman on board. Powerful bad luck that is by itself."

As one, the group shuffled uneasily before the first one speaks up again, quieter now than before, "Aye, well… you'd best keep that opinion to yourself, lad. The little lass is always by the captain's side. And he do seem to be fiercely protective of her. And between us, I would just as soon try to avoid raising the ire of that man, you know?" Just as before, everyone agreed with his sagely advice. They had all been recently hired on to crew a ship captained by a massive giant of a man with wicked scars on his weathered face. None of them knew anything about him, not even his name. He insisted they call him Captain and nothing else. So far, he had been a fair captain, if a little imposing in the way he stood on the helm and watched everyone work with an eagle eye.

At that moment, heavy footsteps thudded slowly across the deck. Halfway to them, the bright red glow of a pipe illuminated the face of the captain. The deep ridges of his scars cast dark shadows on his already intimidating visage. Every bit of seven feet tall, he lumbered over to lean on the railing beside the men. Blowing smoke rings up to join the fog, he did not seem to even acknowledge the men next to him. A hush fell over the group in his presence, lasting for a while as no one knew what to say to their mysterious leader. When the prolonged silence grew to be uncomfortable, one of the men cleared their throat, "Ahem... Captain, sir, be we nearing our destination? Wherever that may be?" In keeping with his secretive nature, he had told them nothing of their job or even destination.

"It's not far now. I wager we will be there within two weeks. Maybe three, if we have many more nights like this."

"Well sir, should not we unfurl the sails? Cover as much distance as we can when we can, yeah?"

"What? Run the risk of dashing my ship on rocks hid by this damned fog? No, we will drift for now and resume sailing when the weather clears. We will still get there soon, mind you." He grunted in defiance and continued to stare out into the fog, puffing gently on his pipe.

A few more minutes passed before the young man who spoke about the captain's female guest piped up once more, "Captain, what exactly is it that we be hauling? We're all quite curious." Though not by much, the rest of the group shuffled slightly away from the inquisitive man in preparation for what may happen. Despite his tight lipped nature, the captain had been noticeably silent about what it was that they were transporting. Almost ornery about keeping it to himself.

Slowly, the captain turned whilst taking a long pull of his briar pipe. He blew a cloud of smoke at the young sailor, choking him and causing him to cough. "If I wanted you to know that, I would not be wearing the cargo hold key about my neck, would I?" His gravelly voice was not cold or cruel, just firm and unmoving. "Don't worry. You will all be paid fairly, and can choose whether or not to stay in my employ once the job is done. But that is all I will tell you. Be wise. Don't ask again."

His eyes, blue the shade of glaciers, bored into the sailor until the man wilted and turned away in defeat. Satisfied with this, the captain tapped out his pipe and turned to leave. Only when he was gone did the rest of the group relax and move back to their daring companion. As the door to the captain's quarters audibly shut, one spoke up gruffly in the young man's direction, "Moron."

The morning brought bright sunshine and a steady breeze which had little trouble banishing the blinding fog from the night before. The crew was up at first light tightening riggings, scrubbing the deck, and all other manner of work that need be done. Roused by the noise and commotion, the captain lumbered out of his cabin, playing with the key that bounced against his bare chest. Taking a deep breath of the salty sea air, he boomed in a commanding tone that the crew had grown accustomed to, "Loose all sails. South by southwest, heading 1-2-0-0." The ship lurched forward as it picked up speed with the sails filling with wind, and the helmsman spun the wheel according to his directions. A small half smirk tugged at the captain's lips as he breathed in deeply once more, "Check all cannon. Grapeshot and full powders loads in all. Instant fused. On the double.

As the men rushed to carry out his orders, a woman appeared from his cabin to stand behind him. She ran her fingers through her hair before placing a hand on his forearm. Her skin was dark, almost the colour of ebony, and she had chocolate hued eyed that sparkled in the sun while being framed by long, fluttering lashes. The six dots tattooed on her forehead and brow furrowed as she looked up at him in concern, "Cap… the cannons? Whatever for?" She squinted as she looked out to the horizon, trying her best to see whatever threat that he had detected. As far as she could tell, there was nothing there warranting such action. A few spouts from whales and some breaching dolphins, but that was it.

"I can smell a fight on the air. Feel it in my bones," he answered quietly without looking at her. He seemed focused on his crew changing the loads in the heavy guns. "The sea will run red today, that is for sure. I just don't know when yet." He took the necklace holding the key off, pressing it into her small palm, "Take John down into the cargo hold. Get into the steel room and lock both doors behind you when you go. Whatever happens or whatever you hear, do not come out until I come for you."

Though she had surmised that some confrontation was coming, her doe eyes still grew wide as she disappeared back into the cabin. She emerged just as quickly, carrying a squirming bundle of blankets. Weaving between the bustling men, she darted down the hatch that led into the belly of the ship. It was not until he heard the heavy thud of a door slamming below deck that the captain moved from his spot. He trudged up the stairs to the steering platform and took the wheel from the helmsman. Checking the mounted compass, he adjusted their bearing slightly and locked the wheel in place with a lever. Clapping the helmsman on the shoulder, he went to the railing and cleared his throat. Cheerily, he announced, "Alright lads. All hands to the galley, and tell the cook to wake up and prepare a grand breakfast. Double rations for the morning."

The abrupt order got a surprised but nonetheless pleased cry from the crew members. Within just a few moments, the deck was emptied save for the man who had given the order. Bouncing a large pouch in his palm, he walked along the ship's many cannons. From the bag he produced large gold coins, one of which he placed in the barrel of each gun. Upon completion of this curious chore, he tucked the gold back into his coat and whistled as he went to join the crew for breakfast.

The meal left spirits high and bellies bulging with warm food, which was always good for morale. The food reserves were left a little lower than what was usually acceptable, but the captain once again assured them that they would arrive at their destination within a few days. He informed them that if they continued to work well and got the job completed as he wanted it, he would personally cook them a meal. This roused a few laughs from the men who raised their glasses in agreement of the deal. But the feast had to end eventually and the galley slowly thinned out as the men got back to work in much better moods than before. Captain filled a plate with food, humming as he did so. Making his way to the cargo hold, he sat the plate down and reached into his boot. A second key was brought out, used to unlock the unusually heavy door. Scooping up the plate, he slid inside and locked the door behind him.

He walked up to what could only be described as a giant metal box. It was about eight feet tall and ten feet wide on all sides, with a single vault door on one side. He knocked on the steel door loudly and spoke loudly, "Adee, it is me. Open up." The door gave several clicks as the combination lock was turned and finally swung open. The young woman peeked out, looking slightly fearful. He shook his head and smiled, "No, the fight has not yet happened. I just came to bring you some food." He stepped inside the room and looked around. The walls one the inside were different than the outside, covered with beautiful wine red wallpaper. There was nice furniture in the room, including a small bed and a plush armchair behind an oak desk. In one corner was a crib with a sleeping baby in it. Adee sat at the desk as Captain walked over to the crib. He softly ran his fingers over the baby's red hair, "Have you fed him today?"

"Of course," replied the young woman, wiping her lips with a clean cloth. "You took me on to take care of him, yes? So, that is what I do." She seemed almost insulted that he had asked her, which caused him to roll his eyes and shake his head. She took a sip from a glass of water and then rested her pointed chin on her hand, "Demetrio… the fight you say is coming. Please, try to be safe. I know you are strong and so confident in your abilities. Don't let that get you carried away. I don't want to ever see you like… you were. Ever again."

The giant man turned to her, cracking a soft smile. It was an endearing look that almost seemed out of place on his scarred up face. "Don't worry, Adelaide. I will be as careful as a church mouse, I promise." He walked over and gently capped her cheek affectionately.

She smiled and placed her hand on it, closing her big brown eyes. A soft sigh escaped her plump lips, "You shouldn't lie to a lady, my Captain."

As he began to lean down to her, the sound of boots pounding heavily on the roof above them stopped him. His eyes narrowed as he stood back up and looked at the door warily. From beyond it, a voice called out in a panic, "Captain! A ship of the starboard bow, closing in fast. Royal navy!"

 **Chapter 2**

"Aye, that's royal navy. Hunter class ship, by the looks of it," muttered Captain as he looked through his spyglass at the rapidly approaching vessel. As he said this, his men began to hurriedly check the powder in their pistols and draw their swords in preparation for a bloody battle. He looked through his spyglass once more, studying the ship and the men on it. Though the pirates had a fair lead on the military craft, Hunters were smaller and they had the wind fully at their back. The distance between them was closing rapidly, and the pirates all knew it. They took their placed near the railing, aiming their cannons and small guns. Calmly, Captain raised his hand to settle down all the commotion, "Hold steady now, my lads. Let's see what it is that they want before we get so up in arms."

"They want to blow us out o' the fucking water obviously," cried one young sailor as he franticly rammed scattershot into his rifle. His fear was understandable to some degree; Hunter class ships were well known for being the worst enemies of pirates such as them. They often elected to sink their targets, as it was easier to do so than to risk a direct fight with the dangerous criminals they hunted. The youth took aim at the approaching craft, pulling back the hammer, "We have to attack them now, before they have the chance to kill us all! We have already given them far too much ti-"

His rambling was quickly cut short as Captain wheeled around and slapped him, the back of his hand colliding against the boy's head. The strike was hard enough to lift the sailor off of his feet, throwing him to the ground in a crumpled heap. "When I give an order, you'd do well to follow it without question or delay," growled Captain. He then addressed the rest of his crew as they shrunk back in surprise at the burst of anger, "I said lower your damned weapons. Now!" All the guns were immediately dropped and the men avoided his gaze. It was obvious they did not want to, but they now knew better than to disobey him. They twitched in fear of the soldiers and the immense strength of the man who they followed.

Thankfully enough, they did not have to wait long for the other ship to come to them. Soon, they could see the men who crewed it standing on deck. Much like them, they were lined up along the railing with weapons in hand. But these men were not untrained pirates; these were skilled soldiers in the Royal Navy. They stood in perfect formation with their rifles held high in the air, simply awaiting orders from their leader. But this was not even the greatest danger that the high-sea brigands faced. The small gunship came alongside their vessel, turning so its side faced their own. Though much smaller in size, the Hunter class gunships made well on their namesake by carrying an impressive number of cannon. There were lined along both sides of the ship, so close they almost touched one another. Finally, the craft stopped, bobbing on the water, it's guns aimed directly at the pirate's.

Captain's men closed their eyes in fear of the worst, and some even resorted to prayer in what they were sure was their final moments. However, rather than thunderous gunfire, there was a voice from across the small span between crafts, "Greetings, seafaring men. I am Captain Cromwell of his Majesty's Royal Navy of England. I have come today of peaceful intent, and wish only to speak to one among you." Slowly, the men opened their eyes, surprised by the civil way that the soldier spoke. Captain huffed and turned away, walking back to his cabin. None of his men questioned this, instead focused on listening to the commander continue, "I am looking for one pirate by the name of DeMetrio Aldere Vintello, who we also have reports of going by the name The Highwayman."

A wave of shock and disbelief washed over the pirates upon hearing this. Everyone knew who the Highwayman was, or at least had heard of him. He was the most feared pirate who had ever sailed any of the world's seas. In the last five years alone, he had sank and looted well over ten dozen merchant and military vessels. Despite all probabilities, he had always seemed to evade inevitable death and capture. That was, until half a year ago. A military sloop sailed into Port Royale, spreading tale of how it found a ship flying The Highwayman's colours. It had been dashed against the rocks of a small island by a passing hurricane, and there were no survivors in sight. It was widely assumed that despite his legendary status, that the fierce pirate had finally met his match in the form of Mother Nature.

"Captain Vintello, we have been tracking you for some time now. We know you survived that hellish storm and found yourself onboard a new ship. One that does not fly any colours of any sort, crewed by a mismatch of pirates gathered from several different ports. But we do not come to fight today sir, we come instead to offer you terms set forth by the King himself." Captain's men found the story almost impossible to believe. After all, you would have to be in a fortress to survive a hurricane. There is no way a lone pirate vessel dashed against stone would allow any survivors. But nonetheless, they were interested in hearing the terms set out for him. The military leader unrolled a piece of paper and read from it, "The king demands you return all of the gold you have stolen and turn yourself in without quarrel or fight. If you do so, your sentence will be lowered from death by gallows to twenty five years in the royal prison. You will be put in a comfortable cell and go unharmed by any guards. The king finds these terms most king and merciful, and implores you to accept." There was a pause and then an almost pleading, "We all implore you accept, sir."

As his men debated the terms, and discussed how good they were, Captain appeared back from his cabin with his pipe. He puffed on it and appeared to be deep in thought as he did so, strolling over to the side of his ship so he could see the military man. He scratched his chin for a moment before nodding, "Aye, so you have found me." Throughout his crew, a whisper of surprise was let loose. It of course made sense for the mysterious captain to be him. Some wondered why they had not guessed it before, while others argued over if it was truly him. He ignored it all and kept talking to the other man, "Old Kingy must really be feeling gracious, offering such generous terms. Sentence dropped from death to twenty five years in the cushiest prison in the country? The one reserved for high society and those who bribe the judges? That's pretty nice." He rubbed the back of his neck, seeming to think it over. "And you say all I have to do is turn myself in and what else…? Oh yeah, return the gold?" He chuckled, "Sure, I can do that. Here it is." He upturned his pipe, dumping the hot ashes onto the pinhole of a cannon.

There was a deafening report as grape sized lead balls tore into the unsuspecting opposing crew. The single cold coin that Captain had dropped into the weapon sailed through the air with the shot, easily ripping through the metal armour on the military captain's chest. The Highwayman, having once more outsmarted those seeking to bring him to justice, laughingly ordered his men, "Fire!" As the enemy crew franticly scrambled to retaliate, the pirates fired their small arms and cannons in rapid succession, not willing to waste the head start advantage their clever captain had been able to secure for them.

Despite the smaller ship far outgunning the pirates, the battle was unceremoniously short. The brigands fought without tactic or thought, letting a blind desire for survival guide them. When the smoke cleared, most of the soldiers laid dead while only a handful of pirates were injured. Captain, having stayed on deck and done more than his fair share of shooting, was bleeding from a musket ball which had ripped through his shoulder. He pressed his hand against it, wincing as he rolled the muscle to make sure that no tendons or bones had been damaged. Deciding that it was little more than a flesh wound, he turned to his men. They all held a look of reverence and appreciation for the large man; he had not only revealed himself to be a legendary figure, but his trickery was the only thing that had kept them from certain death. He barked to his men, "Cast over grappling hooks and pull their ship over. We take what we can."

Despite emptying all their cannon into the smaller craft, it did not seem in danger of sinking. This was thanks to the order he had given to use grapeshot, which wreaked havoc on men and sails, but did little to hulls. Once they had drawn the vessel close enough to jump from their ship to it, the true devastation of the battle became apparent. Soldiers lay torn to shreds by the lead shot, most dead while some gasped for life they would surely soon lose. The leader of the soldiers, the man who had spoken to Captain, was one of the ones fighting to stay alive.

Captain walked up to see him, surveying his wounds. It looked like the first cannon shot he fired was the only one who hit the dying man. The gold coin that had pierced his armour ripped through one of his lungs, causing the man to begin drowning in his own blood. Captain knelt down beside him, addressing him with a frown, "I assume this little altercation means that the deal is off the table?"

The dying soldier spat blood on the large pirate, coughing, "Fuck you, blasted pirate. We should have sent you to the bottom of the sea as soon as we saw you. That is where all of your kind belongs."

"You know," replied Captain as he wiped the man's bloody saliva off his cheek, "there was another sent with the same message and mission as you. Right before that hurricane hit my old ship. But he was smart." He stood back up, tapping his temple to signify brains, "He immediately told me what the king had sent him to do and say. Also told me how any king who would so willingly send him and his men to certain death could go fuck himself for all he cares. He not only elected to join my crew with all his men, but he also agreed to sail back to the capital. His new job is to act faithful to the crown, and to keep his eye on the goings on there and to tell people that I had finally died in some horrible storm."

Drawing out an ornate pistol from his belt, the pirate pulled back the hammer and checked to make sure the powder was full and dry. "Shame that you could not have been that smart, friend."

The thieves were alerted by the sharp crack of a pistol shot, turning to see where it came from. They relaxed when they saw it was their leader, who was walking over to them with smoking gun in hand. He put it back in its holster and smiled, "Take whatever interests you boys. But above all else, I want all of their cannon. Every last one we will haul up to our ship for our own personal use."

"But captain, there is not enough room on our deck for us to outfit all of them."

"Then we shall take some into the crew quarters, stick their muzzles through the oar ports. We have no need for rowing."

They exchanged incredulous looks, but nodded and went about their way with the looting. Taking all of the heavy guns from the schooner would give them almost triple what most ships of the size carried. With that much firepower, they doubted even a large galleon could offer much difficulty to them. It made them wonder what exactly this enigmatic captain had in store. Before they could think to ask him, he had already mad the climb back up onto their ship.

Captain wasted little time in making his way back to the steel room below deck, using his key to get in. John as crying, and Adelaide was doing her best to calm him. She was sitting in the chair, rocking him while making soft hushing sounds. She jumped when Captain walked in, used to him announcing himself before doing so, "Oh! Oh, it's you, DeMetrio." She scowled at him, "All the gunfire and yelling. It woke up little John, scared him to death."

"It is okay, Adee. He is my little sailor. He will be okay, in time." He placed one hand on the woman's shoulder, while using the other to comfortingly rub the baby's head. Instantly, the child stopped crying and opened his eyes. One of them was a glittering blue like Captains, but the other was a twinkling green. They were wise eyes, big and full of wonder. The baby laughed and cooed, reaching up to grasp his father's large finger. The large man was surprised, but quickly smiled and leaned down to kiss the babe's hand, cooing, "My precious little sailor. Don't worry, the danger has passed."

 **Chapter 3**

After his father had settled him down, Adelaide was able to put John back to bed without further issue. She then turned all of her attention to Captain, placing her hands on her shapely hips. She stormed over to him, pressing her slender finger against the new wound in his shoulder. As he recoiled in pain, she hissed in an angry whisper, "You said that you would be careful, you big idiot." This was followed by a flurry of presumed insults in Jamaican Potwa that he could not understand.

He bit his lip to keep from crying out in pain, his fists clenching tight as he took a step back away from the fiery little woman. He spoke through his teeth, looking at the floor so that he could avoid any eye contact, "Well, I was as careful as one can hope to be in a firefight, Adee." It was almost humorous, the way he seemed to be almost fearful of the woman who was not even half his size. All of the ferocity and raw power he had shown moments ago were gone now, replaced by a look of submission.

"Sit!"

The lumbering giant obediently sank down onto the desk, averting his gaze still as the girl rolled up the sleeve of his coat. He dared to look over when she began to rummage through messy drawers until she came up with a needle and thread. He attempted to roll his sleeve back down and stand, but she stopped both of those things from happening with a light smack over his wound. He bit back some choice words and spoke quietly, "Really, I don't think that is necessary. It will heal on its own." He knew the argument would not hold up well, but he figured that it was worth a try to keep her from sewing him up. As kind and caring as she was, her needlework was far from perfect.

"Sure, it will heal, Captain. But not before it manages to get infected and you lose your arm. Or worse, you die." He leaned away from him and grimaced, "When was the last time you had a proper bath?" As she questioned him, she knowingly raked her long nails through his greasy hair, eyes squinting condescendingly.

He had to take a moment to think, "Well, there was that one… No… Well…" In all honestly, he could not recall the last bath he took that did not involve simply rinsing off with water. And while some may consider that adequate hygienic practice, he had severe doubts that she would agree. He resorted to what he felt was sound reasoning, "You know I have to be careful, Adee! Have to keep up my appearance to these men. Keep them afraid of me."

Judging by the fact that she immediately stuck the metal needle into his shoulder with little regard for gentleness, he guessed that his argument was invalid. Tears welled up in his eyes, but he finally decided to just let her have her way and not argue any further. It was obviously not going to work out in his favour in this particular instance. "This is really not needed," was all he was able to mumble before her crude stitching caused him to draw in a sharp breath.

"And you're really being a big baby, DeMetrio."

By the time that Adelaide was done and had given him a clean bill of health, Captain arrived back on deck to find the men marveling over their spoils. One of them had found a small lockbox of gold coins in the belly of the small ship, which was an incredibly odd thing for a military ship to carry. But the crew was relatively close knit, and was happily dividing the small amount of gold betwixt their numbers. The other items they felt could bring profit such as the military grade guns and swords lay in a heap off to the side.

Captain was admittedly impressed with their level of camaraderie, and leaned on a barrel to admire how they willingly split up even a small haul. He couldn't help but focus on the man who had found the box, and his eyes narrowed knowingly. He was standing back from the group, just watching the others dig into the shiny coins. There was a shrewd, almost cunning look of thought in the young boy's eyes. There was only one reason any man, pirate or not, would behave in such a way. It was in that split moment of realization that one of the crew looked up from the money and noticed their returned captain.

"Sir Cap'n!"

Those two words were enough to snap the men from their greedy trances, bringing all attention to the fabled giant. They did not speak anything, but DeMetrio could hear the words running through their minds like they did for anyone who learned who he was. _Highwayman. Highwayman._ Their faces were a mixture of fear and awe, like always. He had been through this dozens of times before, but it was always the same. Some men admired him. Some men hated him. But all men feared him.

They parted when he began to walk through their midst, allowing him unburdened access. He knelt down and picked up a single gold coin, examining it before dropping it back onto the pile and continuing on to the young man who was hanging back from the throng of pirates. The youth did not look like the others, so in awe of their famous captain. He wore the same sly half smile, staring up into the eyes of the legend. DeMetrio grinned back in response, a wolfish expression that showed his teeth, "What is your name, boy?"

The seemingly commonplace question apparently took the young man by surprise, as if he was expecting something else. He stayed silent for a moment and then stood up straighter, "My name…? Samwell, sir. Samwell Cross." The young man maintained eye contact with the giant, but the longer he looked, the more he began to feel uncomfortable with it. He kept up his cocky visage, but began to slink back down into a more slouched position.

"Samwell, huh? Interesting name, son," replied DeMetrio as he clapped the boy on the shoulder. He then turned to regard the rest of the men, hand still on Sam's shoulder, "Men, due to this young man's willingness to so openly share his loot, I have made a decision I think will benefit us all. Young Samwell here will from here on be this ship's boatswain, in charge of crew and equipment." This ignited a flurry of whispers from the men; the captain just announced an officer on the ship, when he did not even have a first mate beforehand. However, their minds were addled with a lust for gold; gold that the young man had so willingly relinquished to them. For this reason alone, they were more than happy to accept the news. Even Sam was pleasantly surprised with the announcement. That was, until DeMetrio looked back at him with a predatory smile, "Congratulations." A cold chill jolted down the youth's spine as his captain patted his back and then walked off.

He met Adee at the door to his cabin where she had been watching the fiasco from. She looked up at him and raised one eyebrow, "DeMetrio, why would y-"

"Did you not see how he watched the men digging into the gold? How he just smiled and didn't even try to lay claim to any of the money that he himself had found?" He rested his hand on her shoulder, looking down at the baby in her arms, "That's not kindness or camaraderie that he is showing. It is a bid for power. A way to make the crew like him. So, I decided to give him power without making him earn it. Nothing makes a man like that more uncomfortable."

In the coming days after the firefight, the crew acclimated nicely to their new boatswain. Their new boatswain on the other hand did not fare so well. Instead of bothering the captain, who now sat atop the wheel deck and played cards with anyone willing to gamble away what money they had, the men now came to Sam with their problems. He found himself faced with making decisions when crewmembers had arguments or they could not decide how best to handle a situation. He found the entire thing to be quite tiresome though he did do an admittedly good job of it. All of the stress and pressure eventually came to a head one night in the galley while the men were all eating.

That day, the sea had been still and the wind had not picked up enough to move their ship by any significant measure. The men passed the time gambling with DeMetrio, helping Adelaide wash some of their clothes in barrels, and otherwise lazing about. The only one who seemed to be doing anything that could be considered work was poor Samwell. He was studiously going over the expense and payment ledger, calculating which man had how much money in his account, any losses, any gains, and to whom they were attributed. He sighed as he saw that nearly all the men on the ship had lost a fair sum to the captain over games of cards.

At first he had not noticed the little tourneys, but it became more evident as increasing numbers of the men lined up to take turns trying their luck against DeMetrio. In their simple minds, they had little money to lose in the first place, whereas their leader had plenty to give. And even though only one out of every handful managed to win against the experienced pirate, they all continued to line up to try and win. Some began betting their guns and swords while others promised him gold to be paid to him by deducting from their payment for this job. Even when some of them had lost everything, they came back in an attempt to win at least some of it back.

The more than Samwell realized this from the jotted notes that the captain had wrote in the ledger, the more that he began to grow irate. He had never idolized the famous pirate like many of his mates did, but now he found himself growing to truly dislike the man. Though it was not only for how he was essentially robbing his own men blind; he honestly did not care much for the crew. It was how DeMetrio so willingly manipulated people. He had landed Sam in a position that he now despised. And that smile. The smile that Sam was flashed by the captain was full of venom and knowing. Same had been trying to vie for power, to make the men look up to him. Of course, they did now, but not in a way that he derived any pleasure from.

As the sun sank down, Sam finally leaned back in his seat, rubbing his eyes as he closed the book atop his barrel desk. He was more than happy when one of DeMetrio's unlucky opponents trudged down the stairs and announced that the captain had said it was time for supper. The men all put down what they were doing to head into the kitchen. Samwell followed suit, but not before he looked up and saw the captain still seated at the card table, grinning the same evil smile as Adelaide began to put away the cards so they could eat above deck.

Even as Sam got his meal and drink, he felt anger rising in his chest. He tried to take a break from all of the men by going and eating his food quietly off in a dark corner. Despite this effort, it did not amount to much. As he wearily shoveled food into his mouth, a small group of men approached him. He kept his eyes on his food, somehow hoping that ignoring them would be sign enough that he did not want to be bothered. They did not seem to get the message, or else did not care much about it. They began to argue back and forth, demanding he settle the disagreement over who owed who over some idiotic bet. As they got increasingly louder, Samwell's knuckles began to turn white with how hard he was gripping his tankard.

Suddenly, he shot to his feet and lashed out at the group. The glass tankard shattered against one of the men's temple, toppling him to the floor where he clutched his busted nose. The room fell silent except for the man who writhed and moaned on the ground. The group who had come to Sam slowly took a step back, their eyes wide. The aggravated boatswain's chest was heaving and he slowly pushed a strand of his sandy hair back out of his face. "I… couldn't give two shits… about your stupid bets." He surveyed the room, seeing the looks of surprise on every face. The realization that he had elicited such a reaction from the crew surprised him. Then an idea formed in his mind. A way to serve his needs and get revenge on the bastard that put him in this predicament in the first place.

"I am your boatswain. Not your fucking father." He pointed at the man on the ground, "I am not here to decide who wins gambles and bets. Keep that amongst yourselves." He placed his hand on his chest, narrowing his eyes, "My job is to settle actual important issues. Like why you are all so broke now that you idiots decide to come to me, fighting over a two coin bet. Now, who can tell me… why it is that none of you seem to have any money left?"

 **Chapter 4**

The card games with DeMetrio slowly grinded to a halt, as did a lot of the crew's productivity. This was shortly noticed by the captain. The men avoided him more often than not, and he caught an increasing number of them shooting him contemptuous looks. This of course only served to raise his temper, and he began barking orders every time he saw one of the men lounging about. On the opposing side, Samwell seemed more at ease and cocky than ever before. The men had stopped coming to him for little matters, instead only speaking to him about their money and serious matters aboard the ship.

This also was not beyond the notice of the increasingly furious captain, who watched with anger as his ship slowly slid further out from under his fist. One day, as the crew was begrudgingly going about their duties, DeMetrio approached the eased boatswain with a soured look on his face. This time it was Sam's turn to smile up at the other man with a knowing look, "Evening, sir. Is there something that I can help you with?" He closed the book he was reading, sitting up straight to look at the captain.

"Samwell. I gave you a job to do!"

"Sir?"

DeMetrio jerked his head back towards the rest of the deck, indicating the men who were at work, "A boatswain is in charge of crew and equipment. And I can't help but notice this crew is not operating as it should. Which in turn, is not good for equipment either." He folded his tree trunk arms across his chest, glaring down at the much smaller man.

Samwell shifted slightly under the icy gaze of his superior, but quickly composed himself. Unwilling to wither against the stare, Samwell held the same smile as he feigned ignorance, "Sir, I am not sure what you mean, I'm afraid. As far as I can see right now, the crew is doing their jobs. If anything, they are working more now than they have before." He stood up, stretching his arms above his head, "Perhaps you can explain better about what it is that is bothering you about them?" He knew well enough that the only thing that was angering the massive man was that the crew was showing less and less fear of him. He also knew that DeMetrio would never admit that.

Dem, seeing no answer that would not betray him, turned away and sighed while rubbing his temples, "I am not sure. I just know that something feels amiss on my ship. It is some… tension or something. I just thought maybe your _excellent_ relationship with your mates could turn up some kind of answers about it." Correct to Sam's guesses, the captain was not willing to admit how much their lack of fear was getting to him.

The fact that his suspicions had been correct pleased Sam, and emboldened him. He decided to poke at the one nerve that he knew would put the captain on his toes. Clearing his throat, he quipped, "Though I certainly think giving the men more information on what we are hauling and where we are going would improve morale." All of the men close enough to hear this stopped what they were doing, looking at the duo in shock. They already knew that the captain had essentially outlawed any questions regarding the topic.

DeMetrio's electric blue eyes narrowed, and he shot the ogling men a look that petrified them with fear. He slowly turned back around, giving the same look to Sam. That face was enough to finally wither the boatswain. Realizing that he may have pressed his luck too far, he took a stumbling step back and nearly tripped over his chair. To compensate, DeMetrio took another step towards him. His deep, graveled voice came out as if spoken by the reaper himself, "Maybe you are not aware of exactly how this works, boy." He patted the key hanging from his neck, "You are the boatswain. The men listen to you." He inched slowly closer, his eyes a picture of malevolence, "Me? I am the captain. _You all listen to me, goddammit._ And unless I am wrong, I believe I said no one was to pester me about this trip."

"Sir, I onl-"

Sam's words were unfinished when DeMetrio pushed back his coat to show the ornate handle of a large pistol tucked in the waist of his trousers, "Do not make this same mistake twice, boy. Is that something we can have an accord on?"

The sudden show of aggressiveness from the giant figure left Sam with no words, so he instead opted to nod rapidly when questioned. This seemed to satisfy the irate captain, who huffed before walking away. Sam watched him go, then saw one of the crew reach for his own pistol when the large man passed. Scrambling to his feet, Sam lunged at the pirate and quickly grabbed his hand, keeping him from drawing the weapon. Watching to make sure that DeMetrio had not noticed the commotion, Sam hissed at the man, "What do you think you are doing?"

The would-be attacker seemed genuinely surprised that the boatswain had stopped him, his brow furrowed in confusion, "I'm tired of sailing beneath that brute, Sammy."

"We all are, but that doesn't mean we mutiny. Least of all, right now," retorted Sam, his voice a barely audible whisper. He knew that when he began to sow dissent amongst the crew towards their captain, some thoughts of mutiny would arise from it. But he had not anticipated that they would show so quickly and openly like this. He wrenched the gun away from the pirate and stuck it in his own belt. "Now get back to work, you idiot. And next time you have an idea like that? Just let it go."

He left the attempted mutineer mumbling as he swabbed the deck, and made his way back to his overturned seat. He picked up his book and hurried below deck to the crew's quarter, so he could be alone for a moment. The close call with the brash pirate had given him much to think about, knowing that it would likely only be the start of his problems.

As Sam had guessed, the next few days aboard the ship were a cesspool of malevolent feelings. Some stemmed from the crew and were aimed at the captain, while others were from captain to crew. Samwell, trying to further his own ends against all odds, tried to play the neutral party. He found himself sticking close to DeMetrio when the crew was particularly riled up, which only made the captain that much more irate. Since their altercation over the contents of the cargo bay, DeMetrio did not seem to care much for his hastily appointed officer.

The tired boatswain was led to guess that the captain had some suspicions that an internal fight would spring, because they saw less and less of the young woman. It seemed that DeMetrio had given her word to stay mostly in the captain's cabin. And judging by the captain's use of a key every time he entered the door, it looked to be locked. This made Samwell very nervous; he did not mind annoying the captain, but he certainly did not want to have to fight him. He had not been a pirate for terribly long, but even non-seafaring people knew legends of The Highwayman. An unstoppable killer of immense strength, plowing through anyone in his way.

It became pretty much all he could do just to quell the brewing storm while in the galley during dinner, as that was the only time that he was alone with the majority of the crew. DeMetrio had taken to eating in his cabin with Adelaide and John. Every night, he had to dispel talk of mutiny and rebellion. He explained that while he was likewise sick of the method of leading employed by the captain, mutiny would likely result in unfavorable losses on their side. "Besides," he quipped, "Are any of you here willing to also kill his woman and child?" This question seemed to settle over the men like a blanket as if they had not yet thought that over.

Despite their animosity towards the captain, the majority of the men had come to like Adelaide. She helped them with some of their work, and treated them as if they were normal people. And while none of them had even met the young child personally, the idea of killing an infant was dark even for criminals like them. Sam hoped that would keep them at a tense peace at least for a while. But that was only part of his problem. While mutiny was not a viable option at this point, he did want to find a way to unseat DeMetrio from his captaincy. This was proving problematic. The crew could vote to unseat him, but only if he gave them reason.

He was smart enough to know that the captain had figured out that he was being challenged for power. For this, he doubted that DeMetrio would do anything to bring about reasoning for a deposition vote. Unfair punishments, theft from crew, or willful ship endangerment without reward were the usual reasons. Things he knew to avoid.

On the other end of the spectrum, DeMetrio was also beginning to become nervous. He spent most of his time pacing around his cabin, much to the dismay of Aidelaide. She sat on the bed, legs crossed with her chin propped on her hand, "Dem, you make me nervous just walking around like. You are going to wear a spot in the floor." She said the last part with a pout in her voice, looking glumly at the wood floor she had polished not even an hour before.

"I am losing this crew, Adee. They are starting to take my orders lightly." He huffed and leaned over their vanity, supporting his heft with his arms. He dripped the wood so hard that his knuckles turned white, "Before they knew who I was, the followed me out of fear. When they learned who I was, they followed me out of admiration _and_ fear." He turned to face her, eyes tired and bagged, "They still fear me, but now… I don't know what is going on. They no longer jump for my orders. The way they look at me. Just pisses me off."

The young woman slowly slid off of the bed and walked up to him, wrapping her arms around one of his, "Tell me DeMetrio, would you hate me if I did not fear you?"

"Do you fear me anyway?"

A small smile pulled up the corner of her plump lips upon hearing the question, "Absolutely not."

"Then I guess you knew the answer before you asked the question," he mused, looking down at her with a weary smile. He leaned down enough to kiss her tenderly on the lips. Even in the midst of his small little seafaring empire falling apart, she calmed him. She reminded him that at least a small measure of what he loved in life did not depend on the fear of those around him. "I want to be done with this voyage, Adee. I want to do what needs to be done, so I can be a father for John. So I can be there for you. In a home, not on the ship."

Her smile faltered for a moment and he leaned back, looking up at him, "DeMetrio… can you do it? Can you give up the ship? The sea? The life you have lived so long, working so hard to make…?" There was a note of concern in her voice. She had heard his plan so many times before, but she had such a hard time believing in it. His name went down as a seafaring legend. He had spent more years as a pirate captain than she had spent alive.

He knew that she was worried and she had the right to be. His life had been a violent one full of murder, theft, and great controversy. But for the last year, he had lost much of the desire for it. He found himself tired and wanting a break. He took pride in everything that he had managed to accomplish, all of the mysticism surrounding his name. But now, a desire to simply be with her and his only child far outweighed the pride. It outweighed everything, and he wanting little more than to make her know it. Pulling her back close, he closed his massive arms around her in an embrace far too gentle for his size, "Adelaide… For you and John, I will. For you, I will do anything."

 **Chapter 5**

It would have been all too easy if DeMetrio's time with Adelaide resolved some of the tension aboard the ship. While it at least did not escalate any further, it did stay in a constant balance of hostility. Despite efforts from Adelaide and Samwell to calm the captain and crew, respectively, things never seemed far from reaching a breaking point. The crew did their best to avoid the sulking giant, doing their work dispassionately then disappearing out of sight. They found solace within the galley due to the fact that DeMetrio avoided the place in order to keep from losing his temper amidst the men. He, on the other hand, mostly kept to the deck near the wheel. Up here, he did not have to deal with anyone besides the helmsman. This particular crew member, a bright eyed young Jamaican, was one of the very few who still seemed to respect the captain.

Samwell was having just as hard a time with the current situation, if not worse. Whereas the crew had come to him only for money issues and for leadership advice in the absence of their subservience to DeMetrio at first, they now hounded him worse than ever before. He knew that he could not be angry with them now; they often wanted to speak to him to report their growing problems with the captain. If he turned his back on them now, he feared that they would stop following him as well. The last thing anyone on the ship needed was these simpletons leading their own ill-thought out rebellion without his tutelage. Sometimes, he considered approaching the irate captain and speaking to him about the state of things. But pride held him back. There was little he wanted more than to rip the leadership from DeMetrio for himself.

But there was one thing he desired more… As he leaned over the railing of the ship, puffing one a worn out pipe, a glint of light shined in his eyes. He shielded his eyes and searched for the source of the disturbance. _Of course…_ The sun was reflecting off of the shiny key hanging around DeMetrio's thick neck. The only thing he wanted more than control of the ship and crew was to wrest that key away, and see exactly what it was that was hidden behind the impenetrable door down below. He knew it had to be something of great value; heisted art, jewels, gold, or even slaves came to mind. The intrigue tormented his curious mind. What could be so valuable that the legendary pirate would risk his captaincy to keep hidden? He had to know, one way or another. And he decided that he had to learn sooner rather than later.

He had looked at this door a hundred times before, he was sure. It was about the size of a normal door, but had a thick layer of steel over the wood, and was further braced by iron slats. The keyhole was directly in the center, mounted within a gargantuan lock that would be better suited to a royal vault than a cargo hold. Reaching out his hand, Samwell rapped his knuckles firmly on the metal. It was so solid and thick that even if there was an echo on the other side, he could not hear it. Lowering himself to his knees, he tried to peer into the keyhole. There was some faint light, maybe a candle or an unobstructed window, but it was not enough to make out anything. There was a creak behind him, which he attributed to one of the crew that he had instructed to keep the Captain busy by begrudgingly challenging him to a game of cards. Straining to see into the hold, he mumbled, "How many of you have lost everything that brute already?"

The sound of metal scraping against leather caused him to turn, "What the hell are you do-" He had just enough time to duck aside as a sword slammed against the metal door where his head had been not even a half second before. He scrambled back and up to his feet, facing the enraged captain. The shadows hid the giant's face, but not enough to mask the hatred and rage burning within his eyes. Observing him, Samwell saw a shallow stab wound in his shoulder and blood dripping from his swollen knuckles. Confused by what led to this horrible standoff, the boatswain barely had time to draw his own sword before being charged. By some stroke of luck, he was able to raise his weapon and deflect the next strike. The jarring feeling of steel on steel sent a shock of pain up his arm, pushing him back. He gritted his teeth and tried to regain his composure. He knew there was no talking his way out of this one.

The captain was clearly more skilled in combat, and it was everything the boatswain could do to just block the barrage of thunderous blows. He did his best to put various objects between him and his opponent, but DeMetrio easily slung aside everything in his path. Sam had very few openings to make his own attacks, and those he did attempt were easily dodged . After what felt like hours but was in fact less than two minutes, his arms felt like lead and he wasn't able to keep up with the captain. A searing pain raced through him when DeMetrio's sword bit shallowly into his upper leg. The boatswain hit his knees hard, and looked up in time to see light glint off the captain's heavy sword. In a last ditch effort, he raised his sword to block the cleaving blow.

There was a clang of metal on metal, showering the dark crew quarters with sparks. One half of Sam's sword skittered into the darkness, and the other hung limply in his hand. He collapsed back into a sitting position, knowing that his time had come. DeMetrio, bothered that his strike had missed its mark, raised his sword once more. His voice came out, dripping with malice, "I warned you, boy." All that the defeated boatswain could do was close his eyes as the sword fell.

Just as the rounded edge of the blade was about to split into the young man's skull, there was a commotion at the stairs that stopped the captain. He pivoted where he stood and turned, drawing one of his pistols in a fluid motion. The gun found itself aimed directly at the helmsman, the last crew member that DeMetrio had any trust in. The same one who had told him what Samwell was up to when one of the crew had stabbed him during a game of cards. DeMetrio's rage somewhat abated upon seeing the look of unmistakable terror on the man's face. "What is it? The crew?!" He took a stride towards the black youth, his mind immediately racing to the thought of the mutinous bastards going for Adelaide.

"Sh-ships, sir!"

"Ships?" Captain slowed to a stop, ignoring the boatswain who shakily got to his feet. "What do you mean ships?" He had some idea, now that he was calmed enough to hear the sound of panicked running up above.

The distraught man confirmed his suspicions, "Navy ships, sir… Not hunters, sir. Nay, two ships of brig size, laden with guns. They moved in with a fog, making bearing for us with haste." His next words were choked, "We can't fight them both. Not with that many guns."

Leaving the fear stricken helmsman below, the two other men went above deck. The men, many already armed due to their planned mutiny, were racing around like frightened mice. The cause was easy to see, even hidden by the fog: just as reported, two large ships with a plethora of shiny silver guns were racing towards them. Looking to one another, the two enemy pirates nodded a silent truce to deal with this problem. The men would only listen to Sam, but only the experience of DeMetrio stood any chance in this battle.

"We will finish what has been started later. For now, you get your traitors to man the guns. Cannonballs in the ones down in the quarters, grapeshot on the ones up here. I will see what needs to be done to make sure that we are still alive to kill each other later." To his mild surprise, the younger man nodded and went off to round up the men. Left alone, Captain stared at the approaching ships. Despite his experience and what he had said, he felt a twinge of doubt. And with it came a fear of losing someone. Again.

"What do you mean leave the ship?!" Adelaide wailed as she watched DeMetrio throwing her clothing in a case. Her brown eyes were wide, brimming with tears as she held John close to her chest.

"You are going to get on one of the johnboats with John and the helmsman. He is going to row you far away from here, before those ships show up." He thrust the full case into the arms of the still fearful helmsman who seemed delighted with the proposed plan.

Adelaide, franticly searching for a way to stay with him, shook her head, "What about the steel room? You yourself said that not even the heaviest guns could penetrate those walls! We'll be just as safe in there as we would be off the ship!"

DeMetrio paused for a moment, a look of pain and grief on his own face. He walked up and placed his hands on her shoulders, looking down into her eyes, "No gun can hurt it. But if… if the ship goes down, that vault becomes a watery coffin. I can't risk your and John's life. Please."

The girl's face fell flat, and her eyes left his and stared at the wooden floor. Slowly, she nodded in defeat. The look of dismay on her face hurt DeMetrio deeply, but he knew he could not let her stay. He kissed her and his infant son once before leaving them with the eager helmsman.

Captain watched as the trio rowed off on the opposite side from the approaching navy. He did not leave the deck until they had fully disappeared into the heavy fog. He then turned to see Samwell and two other men facing him with stern looks. He glanced about, seeing that the other men were all hunkered by the heavy guns. "What is it?"

There were a few moments where nothing was said, so Sam sighed and elbowed one of the men. The man, huffing angrily at having been chosen, took a step forward and saluted DeMetrio, "We are ready to engage whenever you give the order… Captain." Though the last word was hissed with abhorrence, it seemed genuine enough.

"The only way this works," grunts the captain, "is if we get the first strike on them." He signaled to the man temporarily appointed to the wheel, "Turn us so our broadsides are positioned as to hit both ships with one blast." This was met with incredulous remarks of disagreement. "Just do what I fucking say," yelled the Captain, looking at the crew as a whole. Slowly but surely, the ship began to turn until the men were sure their respective guns were lined up on both vessels. When they were, the captain stood just above the hatch to the crew quarters, so both floors could hear him. "Ready? Aim! Fire!"

"You damned fool! You can't hope to fight that fucking thing!"

A thin line of crimson blood trickled down DeMetrio's face, flowing from a cut on his brow. His hard eyes held the demented gleam of a madman, and he certainly looked the part. He was bloody and panting, his clothing torn and singed to the point it barely clung to him. The herculean battle with the two ships had been hard won, but left his vessel badly damaged. Smoke covered the deck from small fires, swirling around in an orange glow as if they were locked within some deep circle of hell. And then, as if to keep them from celebrating an almost impossible victory, the devil crept forth from the depths. A British Man'o'War slowly came into view from beyond the haze of battle, white sails glowing with the pallor of death under the nearly full moon.

"DeMetrio," shouted Sam once more, "that beast will sink us!" He pleaded with his stubborn captain to flee from the massive ship. "That thing is double our size and has at least twice as many cannons. Even if our ship wasn't so banged up-"

DeMetrio tuned him out, hearing nothing but the waves as he looked about his precious ship. She was full of holes and burning while many of her crew lay dead about the deck, a bloody mess of tangled limbs and crackling embers. Hatred scorched deep within his chest, and his voice came out in a bestial roar, "All of you damned lot even able to crawl, man the cannons. We fight the fuckers!"

The remnants of the crew, many of whom were injured or otherwise unfit to battle, looked up at the man in stark disbelief. Reminded of why they had grown to hate him, they were unsure of how to react to this order. As the first of them began to limp back to battle stations, there was a colossal crack. Immediately, every pair of eyes shot back to the captain as his own eyes opened wide. The giant pirate took a few feeble steps forward before collapsing, blood gushing freely from a gory hole in his midriff. Dumbfounded, they watched as Samwell stepped over their fallen leader, one of DeMetrio's own ornate pistols smoking in his hand. The men were silent for a moment before beginning to cheer jovially. However, Sam's face was white with shock, and he quieted them by throwing aside the smoking gun, "Stop! Stop… Listen, we will not die under the orders of a madman. In this narrow bay, if we loose all sails and put our backs to the wind, we can still outrun that titan. Men, make ready to sail. I promise, I will lead you all ho-"

The crew watched in horror as Sam's words were cut off by a broken sword smashing through his sternum, shattering the bone as easily as glass. The skewered boatswain was in too much shock from the sudden wound to cry out or speak, and he could only stare agape at the blood pooling from his chest. When the sword was yanked free, he continued to stand there like a statue until a large hand grabbed his shoulder and shoved him aside, over the railing where he fell into the murky water below. Shakily, but altogether well for someone who was shot in the guts, Demetrio stumbled forward. The crew fell gravely silent and did not dare to move as the captain stared them all down. Breathing heavily, he pressed his palm to the oozing wound in a failed attempt to staunch the bleeding. Agony filled every ragged breath and blurred his vision. He knew that he was dying, but refused to show that to the crew.

He was using the last of his strength to intimidate the men, and he could tell by the disbelief on their face that it was working. _Just a little longer. And these men all die with me, the traitorous bastards…_ His voice still thundered monstrously, though his shouting did spray flecks of blood down his chin, "I said man the damned guns! Or," he raised his sword and pointed it at the men, "is anyone else in disagreement with my orders?" This time, not a soul dared to defy him, and they all rushed to man what guns were still in operable condition.

Minutes dragged by aboard the ship as men hunkered by the cannons, matches slowly burning in their hands. Many of them prayed, knowing they would soon be dead because of the decisions of a man who already should be. Eventually, they could hear the behemoth hull of the warship pushing through the wreckage of its sunken allies. A fearful glance from the men showed that it was closing in, and was nearly within range for its guns to tear them to pieces. Suddenly, the sound of the massive ship cutting water stopped, and for a moment everything was eerily silent. Then the unmistakable sound of a cannon blast shook the men to their cores, sending shivers up their spines. As they waited for the iron ball of death to smash into them, they were startled by a crack from above.

The cannon had fired a chain shot, which easily split their mast in two, toppling a six foot section of it onto the deck below. Confused by this, the men let curiosity draw them to their feet where they saw that massive ship was nearly upon them. It loomed above them like a wall of guns, bobbing ironically peacefully on the waves. From the high above vantage point came a cocksure call, "This has gone far enough, mister Vintello. You have nowhere else to run, and now have no means to do so." The pirates all looked to their captain, who stared in resolute defiance at the enemy ship, clutching his wounded stomach. Having gotten no reply, the brit continued, "But as gentlemen, we are giving you this one last chance to surrender. Come with us alive and in chains, or you and your dogs all die here."

Upon hearing this, DeMetrio finally spat in dubious anger, "You… fucking british dogs all sound… urgh… the same to me!" He lifted a trembling cigar to his lips, drawing on it despite the immense pain it caused. After a few blood-laden coughs, he snarled, "I will fight to a bitter end. I and these men will die before a chain claps on our wrists. Do your worst, you pig fucking bastards!" He raised one of his pistols, taking aim at a British soldier who peered down at him. Suddenly though, the world went dark. As he crumpled to the blood splattered deck, the sound of panicked shouting was the last thing he heard as a final gurgled breath seeped from his blood filled lungs.


End file.
